


Columba

by MadameMontgomery



Category: Adam (2009), Charlie Countryman (2013), Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Crafts, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Swearing, Valentine's Day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-06
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-25 00:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6172843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameMontgomery/pseuds/MadameMontgomery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>His eyes dropped to his own sad lump, a growl thrumming in his chest, and he dug his fingers back into the clay.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>He still couldn’t believe how he’d gotten here.</i>
</p>
<p>---</p>
<p>NIgel wants to get Adam something special for Valentine's Day and ends up enrolled in a pottery class.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Columba

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for Spacedogs Appreciation Week 2016 (hosted by the incredible [granpappy-winchester](http://granpappy-winchester.tumblr.com)), but life got in the way, so here it is two weeks late!
> 
> All mistakes are my own.

Unbelievable.

Fucking unbelievable.

Nigel took another drag of his cigarette before grinding it beneath his heel. He was surrounded by women – and not even in a good way _fucking Christ_ – and felt his hackles rising at their passive-aggressive looks between him and his cigarette butt. 

They were middle-aged moms. In a fucking pottery class. A fucking pottery class that he, Nigel, drug lord, gang leader, all around fuck-your-shit-up type guy, was fucking attending.

He sighed, then gave his own glare back at the women. His fingers were twisting, shoulders tight. He was out of his element by _light-years_ , to use one of Adam’s space words, and goddammit he needed another _fucking_ cigarette. 

He sighed again and ground the heels of his palms into his eyes. Three hours. He could fucking do this. He’d suffered a lot worse for a lot longer, and this was for _Adam_ , so it mattered. And so he was going to grow a pair and tough it out. 

He could fucking do this.

\---

He could _not_ fucking do this.

Nigel stared at the mound of clay that was supposed to be turning into…something. A couple of furtive glances at the women’s work revealed mugs, some bowls, and some things that could either be vases or pencil holders. 

His eyes dropped to his own sad lump, a growl thrumming in his chest, and he dug his fingers back into the clay.

He still couldn’t believe how he’d gotten here.

Valentine’s Day was coming up fast, and while he and Adam had been together for a while now, Adam deserved more than fucking flowers and chocolate for putting up with his sorry ass. He needed something special. Something _thoughtful_.

Nigel snarled at the thought even now. Nigel didn’t do special or thoughtful. In the past, Valentine’s Day meant tipping extra to the girls in the club and sampling the good shit that would knock him out well into the next day. A decent fuck was a bonus.

But Adam wasn’t Nigel, thank fuck.

So he had spent time terrorizing a bunch of specialty shops downtown, ruling everything as _not enough_ or _fucking stupid_ or _who the fuck would buy this garbage anyway?_

It had been fucking chance that he’d seen the ad. He had been browsing the classified at the corner store, desperate for something, anything that would be good enough for his darling, when a small, flash of color caught his eye.

_Looking for something for that special someone and want to stand out from the crowd?_  
_Let Phyllis’s Pottery House help you out!_  
_For **ONE DAY ONLY** we will be hosting a_  
_Three-hour pottery workshop_  
_Where you can create and take home a unique, handcrafted work of art for your beloved!_  
_There are limited openings, so call (646)874-2263 to reserve your spot today!_

Nigel had burned through three packs of cigarettes debating on whether to call that number or not. The entire things was fucking stupid, but the words “unique, handcrafted gift” kept floating back to him until –

Fuck it.

He would call the fucking number, and if he got in, he got in. And if he didn’t, then who fucking cared.

Right on par with the rest of life, Nigel reserved the second to last seat, and so instead of cuddling Adam into the bed like they did every Saturday, he was here, day before Valentine’s Day, waiting for his shitty “work of art” to come out of the kiln.

“Nigel?”

Their instructor, another middle-aged mom type whom he guessed was fucking Phyllis herself, called his name up front to pick up the lumpy abomination. About a third of the class was gone now, all of them called up, thanked for coming, and asked to share who their gift was for.

Nigel just hoped he could grab it and get out without breaking anything. 

He felt eyes following as he walked up the aisle, nothing new there, and grunted in reply to Probably Phyllis’s thanks. Giving another icy glare to the rest of the room, he turned and made a beeline for the door.

_Almost there, almost there –_

“Oh, wait, Nigel!”

_Fuck._

“You almost forgot to tell us who your gift is for!”

Nigel stopped, gripping the door handle like it was his lifeline. He cursed under his breath before muttering, “…My boyfriend.”

“What was that, dear? We couldn’t hear you!” Probably Phyllis’s voice was probably the most grating thing he’d heard in his miserable life. Grinding his teeth, he whipped back around.

“My boyfriend. I made it for my fucking boyfriend. Was that loud enough for you?” he stared at the wide-eyed class, chest tight, defensive, “And if you any of you have a problem with that, let’s go. I’m just fucking _itching_ to let off some steam, so come on and make my fucking day.”

Nigel prided himself as a good read on crashing situations, being in enough of them himself, but when the feeling in the room went from tense to… _melty_ , and one of the moms near his station made a cooing noise, he felt his face heat. He was way, _way_ out of depth.

When he glanced over and saw Probably Phyllis’s shiny eyes and hand over her heart – like it was the fucking American National Anthem _Christ_ – he bailed. He stalked out of the studio to a chorus of “Good luck!” and “That’s so sweet!” and “Why doesn’t my boyfriend do things like for _me?_ ” and shoved a much-needed cigarette in his mouth.

Pottery class.

Fucking unbelievable.

\---

“Morning, darling. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“Good morning, Nigel. Happy Valentine’s Day to you, too.”

Nigel stumbled over to where Adam was eating cereal at the table and pressed a kiss into his hair. Then his temple. Then his cheek and jaw and neck until Adam was squirming and giggling, trying to push him off. 

_And rather unsuccessfully, too_ , he thought to himself with a smirk, turning Adam’s head to kiss him right.

Just like his lovely darling deserved.

Adam broke away first, and it was all Nigel could do not to fucking cry at how beautiful he was, all bright-eyed and flushed, mid-laugh and well-loved.

“Nigel, I can’t kiss right now, I’m eating breakfast!”

“I know, dove, but you looked so damn gorgeous while doing it, I couldn’t help myself.”

A tiny pleased huff. “Nigel, I’m just eating cereal. I do that every day.”

“Which is why I kiss you every day. My beautiful dove,” Nigel nuzzled into his neck, giving it a final peck before relenting, “but today is different.”

“It is?”

“Mmhm. I got you a gift, darling.”

Adam tilted his head. “Flowers and chocolate?”

The question would have been teasing if it’d been anybody else, but this was Adam, brutally honest because he couldn’t be any other way. _God_ , he was so gone on this boy, and he didn’t even give a flying fuck.

He chuckled and turned to go mix himself a cup of coffee. “No, love,” he called from the kitchen, “something better.”

At least, he fucking hoped so.

Leaning against the doorway, he watched Adam mush his cereal down into the milk in his bowl. The coffee was too grainy and burned his tongue on the way down. It was fucking domestic, and Nigel ate it up like he was starving for it.

Huh. Who would’ve fucking thought.

Another bite of cereal. Another sip of coffee.

“Do you want it now or after breakfast?”

Adam’s brow did that thing it did when he was trying to sift through Nigel’s words, a little furrow appearing between his eyes, and he had to hide his smile in the mug.

“The gift, angel,” he said, answering Adam’s question before he could even ask, “do you want it now or after breakfast?”

He watched as his lips part understanding, a silent “oh” that Nigel would have loved to kiss from his mouth, and the furrow shifted to something softer as Adam considered his cereal bowl. 

“After breakfast. If we do it now, it might take longer then we think, which means breakfast will be pushed back, and then so will lunch and dinner and everything else, and I don’t want that to happen. Especially not today.”

Nigel walked back over to their table, kissing Adam’s forehead as he sat down. He smiled at the happy hum he got return, entirely too damn fond for his own good.

“Whatever you want, darling.”

\---

They were curled into the couch, the present in Adam’s lap, and Adam in Nigel’s lap. He was as careful with the unwrapping as he was with everything else, and Nigel could only pray to everything good and holy that Adam wouldn’t hate it.

Slim fingers pulled at his shitty taping job and pried open the lid before freezing.

“I know it’s not the best or the prettiest, but I fucking tried my best, darling. I really did.”

And he had. He’d figured a bowl was easiest, but even then the rim was uneven and crooked. The clay was thicker on one side, which made it lean to the left, even on flat surfaces. It was shallow and lumpy and impossible to eat out of, even if you _could_ eat out of a clay bowl anyway, he didn’t fucking know.

The paint job was probably the worst though. His hands were built for violence, not art, and the “stars” ended up more like yellow blobs on a blue background. But he had fucking _tried_.

Adam still hadn’t moved or said anything.

“It’s supposed to be a constellation. I know it looks like shit, but it’s Columbia or something –”

“Columba.”

Nigel shot his eyes to Adam’s face, but he was still staring at the bowl.

“…Right, yeah. Columba, that’s it. It’s the fucking dove constellation because you’re my dove, and you love the stars, and that’s basically you and –”

“Nigel.”

“– I just wanted to get you something that was you and now I’m thinking I should have just got you a newer telescope, why didn’t I think of a fucking _telescope_ –”

“Nigel!”

Adam grabbed his face and kissed him. It was more likely for shutting him up than showing his appreciation, but he didn’t fucking care. His dove was fluttering in his lap, needy, and he was more than happy to give him what he wanted.

“I had to make you stop talking,” Adam breathed, beaming, and Nigel dragged him into another kiss. The kid was too damn beautiful, and everyone else was a fucking idiot for passing him by. Not that he was too upset about that if this delightful, squirming thing ended up in his arms.

“I know, dove.” Adam giggled into the kiss and pushed him back again.

“I don’t need a new telescope. Mine works perfectly fine.”

“Good, because I didn’t buy you one.”

“I know. You already said that.”

“Smartass,” Nigel murmured and grinned at the way Adam huffed and flushed with pleasure at his teasing. He twisted in Nigel’s arms until he was straddling his thighs, biting his lip when he was tugged closer, happy and coy and entirely genuine.

“Also,” Adam continued, “I think you did a good job on the constellation. I could easily tell what it was when I first saw it.”

“You mean Columbia?” Messing up just to hear his darling correct him again. And again. And hopefully forever.

“Columba, Nigel, and I knew what it meant, too. That’s why I couldn’t say anything. No one’s ever cared enough. No one’s ever cared so much.”

He ran his fingers around the edge of the bowl before cupping Nigel’s face.

“It’s just like you. It’s rough and uneven and beautiful and helpful. I love it. I love you.” 

Nigel straightened up and kissed his darling, his dove, his _Adam_ , because what else could he fucking do?

“I love you, too, angel. And I’m so fucking happy that you like it. The class was a fucking nightmare.”

He dropped his head onto Adam’s chest, smiling when he felt his laugh shake through it. His dove’s heart was fluttering right along with him, and Nigel pressed a kiss to where the beat was strongest. So present and alive, his darling, and currently choosing to run his fingers through his hair.

Fucking perfect.

“I think my gift will help you feel better.”

“You get me something, love?”

“Yes. It’s technically something for me, but you’re mentioned them before, so I think you’ll like them.”

“I’ll like whatever you give me. Is it in here?”

“No. But I can show them to you.”

“Show me?” 

Adam tugged on his hair, eyes darting up then away. A quick look that meant Nigel was completely and utterly fucked, but to be honest, he’d never been happier to be in his entire life.

“Nigel, do you want me to try on the panties?”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments are a writer's lifeblood!
> 
>    
> Come say hi!
> 
> [stormygalahad.tumblr.com](http://stormygalahad.tumblr.com)


End file.
